


Brave New World

by AliceBee



Category: Les Misérables (TV 2018)
Genre: Handcuffed Together, Huddling For Warmth, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Stranded
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-13 05:16:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21238778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliceBee/pseuds/AliceBee
Summary: Stranded in a strange land and with Rivette injured, Javert must decide whether he can trust Valjean.





	Brave New World

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Esteliel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esteliel/gifts).

Jagged like the teeth of wolves, but black as jet and twice as ancient, there were mountains where none should have been. Plunged once more into almost total darkness, Javert tilted his head back and cursed their sorry situation. Wet through, his hands were cuffed in front of him and his right wrist was then itself further shacked to Rivette’s left. His lieutenant was deeply unconscious, the bloody gash across the side of his head having been dressed with the torn sleeve of a shirt. His own head ached and his whole body was bruised and battered. He had been lucky.

The crack of thunder which eventually followed the lightening strike split Javert’s ears as the bolt had split the sky. Like an explosion, like a direct hit of cannon-fire, it shook the very core of him and, for an instant, he shrank against the wall of the cave despite himself.

His eyes scoured the entrance to their shelter as another white-bright shard of lightening lit the world. Storm clouds, dark and glowering, boiled above as the rain poured and poured, lashing the mountain. Each drop was a streak against the sky, they were shards, needles and knives, darting and dangerous, like white-hot sparks from some mythological forge.

Within that moment Javert could see him, illuminated, silhouetted, standing at the narrow mouth of the cave, staring out. He was soaking wet, his shirt clinging to him and when he was edged in that brief, brutal light, he looked like something supernatural. He looked to be at one with the storm, unafraid of its raging, unthinking power because he somehow shared it.

He had been trying to piece together what had happened ever since he had awoken in this dark, freezing cave. Javert knew he had hit his head when their carriage crashed. They had crashed into the ravine – a ravine which was not on any map. Given there were only three of them in the cave and given the carriage driver’s precarious position, Javert assumed the man was lost. He could remember a jolt, a massive, teeth-rattling jolt, and a cry from their driver and a swerve that they could never recover from. There was a strangely long moment, a feeling of himself lifting off the seat, before a huge collision, screaming horses and bodies and limbs and timber flying. There were several thudding impacts and then nothing.

“Where are we?” Javert asked, his voice bouncing back to his own ears from the narrow walls and high ceiling that enclosed them.

Valjean’s reply, with him still gazing out across those dark, unfamiliar mountains, was enigmatic and unhelpful.

“Far from where we should be.”

“What will you do?” Javert steeled himself for the reply.

Valjean took a deep breath. “Wait for the storm to pass. Then try to find help.”

Javert scoffed and at this Valjean finally turned towards him. Javert could hardly see anything, but he could see the dark glimmer deep in his eyes.

“Your man needs a doctor.”

Javert glanced down at Rivette. He hadn’t moved since Javert had come to. His every breath seemed to take an age to exhale, as if on each, his body was deciding if he should take another.

“Unlock these,” said Javert, lifting his shackled hands and also, therefore, Rivette’s left. “And I will go for help.”

“You need to stay. Keep him warm, if you can.”

“Or are you leaving us here to die?”

“Javert,” said Valjean, and he sounded almost weary, “if I had wanted you to die, I would have left you in the ravine.”

This gave Javert some reason to pause. He had not thought as to how they had got to the cave.

“You?” he said, knowing it must be true, but not able to understand how that was possible.

Valjean turned back to watch his storm and said nothing more.

Sometime later the howling gale began to abate. The rain eased and there was no more thunder and no more lightening.

Javert, cold and shivering, had nevertheless taken Valjean’s advice and moved closer to Rivette. Cuffed together as they were, he had pulled Rivette over his lap and covered his body with his own as best as he could. Curled up in the corner, awkward and uncomfortable, Javert was struggling to come to terms with their situation and with their potential saviour.

The world outside was not one he recognised. There was nothing remotely like it anywhere they should have been and yet here they were, stranded and alone with a felon who now had two hostages. Perhaps that was his plan. That Valjean had rescued them to use as bargaining chips.

But bargain for what – his freedom? He had willingly given that up in the courtroom at Arras. But… wait, how could that be? Something wasn’t right. Like a word on the tip of his tongue, Javert couldn’t quite get to it. He shook off the feeling. Whatever it was that was bothering him, his theory still made more sense than the other explanation, than the one Valjean had implied.

The man was now sat at the entrance, still as a statue. It was easy to lose his shape against the rock, both were dark and solid. It was as if he had become one with the stone so that when he did eventually move, Javert started.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can, you have my word,” Valjean said.

“And you have my pistols,” Javert said, his voice as dry as his clothes were wet.

There had been a strange, sudden brightening. Dawn was breaking, its long, rosy fingers creeping over the impossible peaks and Javert could see his two guns tucked into Valjean’s waistband.

“A precaution for out there, not in here,” the man stated.

“Like the handcuffs?” Javert replied, hoping his sarcasm would score a hit.

He was rewarded as Valjean’s expression shifted from something stoical to something shamefaced.

Valjean left quickly and despite the fact that every fibre of Javert’s being mistrusted everything the man had said, there was now a spark of hope that Javert was unable to extinguish.

A time later, several hours if the track of sunlight at the cave’s entrance could be trusted, Javert was roused from a stupor by gunfire. Another dull crack echoed off the mountains, then a short time later, a third.

Various scenarios ran through Javert’s head, none of which were good. If they were not Valjean murdering fellow travellers to steal their horses and belongings, it was some other brutal villain that was stalking the mountain paths.

The shots did have one positive result, Rivette began to stir. Javert lifted the man’s head as his eyes fluttered open. He was freezing cold and as pale as milk, but he was conscious.

“Rivette?” barked Javert, shaking him firmly.

His answer was a moan and a shift in body weight and then Javert felt him once again sagging against him.

“Rivette? Wake up!”

His lieutenant made a sibilant sound but nothing more. Javert looked into his eyes, once again lifting Rivette’s head. 

“Whaaa…?” Rivette said, gazing up at Javert with half-open eyes and a frown of pain carved into his forehead.

“The carriage crashed. You’ve been injured.”

“Uh,” said Rivette. 

“Someone has gone for help.” Javert felt that convention required he say something more. “It will be all right,” he said, stiffly.

He felt Rivette relax and settle more definitely into his lap. Javert supposed he would allow that indulgence, given their desperate circumstance. Then Rivette tried to lift his head again and moaned in pain.

“Whaaa… what happened?” he asked again.

Javert looked down at the man in his lap. “I just told you that the carriage crashed and you have hurt your head.”

“…carriage? My head…” He trailed off then suddenly yelled in pain. “My ankle! Ah! My ankle!”

“Yes, you have an injury to your head. And apparently your ankle.” Javert glanced at the injured leg. It did look swollen and it was being held awkwardly. Hopefully it was a bad sprain, but it could be broken. “Try not to move.”

“The carriage crashed?” Rivette said. He sounded bewildered, but at least his speech was a little more coherent.

“Yes,” said Javert, trying not to get irritated. “We were in a crash.”

Rivette was silent for a while then Javert felt him take a breath and then ask, “What’s happened?”

“For pity’s sake,” Javert muttered. “The carriage crashed, you have been injured.”

“What?”

“Be still, Rivette,” Javert said and added, somewhat selfishly, “try not to talk.”

He was relieved that Rivette was awake, but he was not in any frame of mind to deal with his baffled subordinate’s repetitive questions.

Javert was cold, tired, hungry and, he had to admit, afraid. Rivette was in no state to walk out of the mountains and besides, Javert had no idea where they were. He was sure of two things, they were not in northern France anymore and their lives were firmly in Valjean’s hands.

Presently, Javert heard footsteps on the mountain pass, measured and with a long stride. His heart leapt, fear and hopefulness twisting around it like twin vines.

Valjean appeared at the entrance, his shirt was off having used it to carry a large bundle of sticks and branches. His body shone with sweat in the slanting, late afternoon sun, every toned muscle in perfect, golden relief. Javert caught himself staring and quickly looked down. 

In Valjean’s other hand dangled three dead rabbits. Not only had the man returned, he had returned with firewood and food.

“You uh… managed to find dry wood?” Javert asked, blood heating his cheeks and his manhood.

Valjean looked over his shoulder, sweat running down his chest.

“It is like it never rained,” he said, frowning at the landscape.

He dropped the firewood at the entrance and laid the rabbits on a ledge.

Rivette had lifted his head and was blinking at Valjean’s arrival.

“Can he walk?” Valjean asked, snapping inch-thick branches into shorter lengths as if they were matchwood.

“He can hardly string a sentence together and his ankle is possibly broken.”

Valjean’s mouth set in a hard line but he nodded at Javert.

The shadows around them lengthened as Javert watched Valjean pile the branches for a fire. The sun was setting far too quickly, the day having lasted too few hours. Valjean had seen it too, his pensive gaze darting often to the now cloudless, clear blue sky that was rapidly darkening, the colour deepening to a strange violet-blue.

“Look,” said Valjean, nodding towards the now dark entrance to the cave. Javert leaned forward and looked into the sky. Moments ago, the sun had been setting in a crystal clear sky, now it was pitch dark and there were no stars, not a single one. There was no moon and there should have been. It should have been one quarter full and showing in the early evening sky.

Javert felt his stomach lurch. What place on earth had no stars in the sky? Was there a place from which you could not see the moon?

“Don’t fret for now,” Valjean said quietly, slipping on his shirt.

Javert then watched as Valjean closed his eyes and held his hand above the firewood. Nothing happened for a long while but then an orange spark leapt into sudden life. In seconds, the fire had taken hold and was spitting and crackling and throwing out wonderful, wonderful heat.

Javert was staring at Valjean as the man slowly opened his eyes as if from a trance. He caught Javert looking and smiled gently.

“Witchcraft!” Javert spluttered in response, backing away, pulling a groaning Rivette with him.

Valjean shook his head, “No, not witchcraft.”

“Then what? What was that?”

Valjean looked into the heart of the flames, his eyes alive with fire. “It is a gift.”

“Did you bring us here?” demanded Javert. “To this place? Did you bring us?”

Valjean, having evidently taken Javert’s pocket knife along with his guns, was skinning and gutting the first rabbit. Practised, swift and expert, the carcass was staked over the fire in moments. As he worked on the second animal, Valjean replied.

“Javert, if anyone brought you, you brought yourself.”

Javert sneered at that nonsense as the smell of cooking meat began to fill the cave. His aching stomach growled and his mouth watered.

“Where are we?”

Valjean turned the first rabbit and set the second.

“I don’t know.”

“You’re lying.”

His reply was a long, deep sigh as Valjean set about the last of the rabbits and placed it over the fire with its fellows. In silence, he turned the three carcasses until the first was done. He pulled the stick from the ground and brought it over to Javert.

“Eat,” he said simply, holding out the food.

For a long moment Javert didn’t move, but his pride only lasted until his stomach twisted in pain. He shifted Rivette, lent him against the wall, reached out with their shackled hands and took the food. Javert tore into the deep, rich, gamey meat, gulping down mouthful after delicious, hot mouthful. 

In no time, Javert was stripping the bones and licking his fingers. He looked up to find Valjean studying him.

With a defiant tilt of his head and with the jut of his chin, Javert asked a silent, “What?”

Valjean shrugged and handed Javert the second rabbit. Awkward with the handcuffs, Javert began to tear off hot strips of meat and offer them to Rivette.

“Food,” he said.

His subordinate opened his eyes and smiled as he took the first piece from Javert’s hand.

“Mmmm,” he said.

Javert continued to tear the flesh, though it burned his fingers to begin with, and feed the pieces to Rivette who groggily, gratefully accepted each one.

Valjean had taken the last of the rabbits and Javert noticed it was the smallest of the three. Javert stared as Valjean ate. When the convict saw him, he held out the remainder of his meal towards Javert. He snorted his refusal and looked away.

Once all three had eaten, Valjean collected the bones and skin. Javert watched as he dug a pit at the back of the cave and buried the scraps. The flickering orange light made his shadow loom and dance, as black as coal and nightmare-strange against the ragged stone.

Once sat back beside the fire, Valjean began to sharpen one of the longer, stouter branches. When a long, vicious point had been crafted, he annealed it in the fire, nursing it through the flames until it was tempered and transformed.

Javert watched in silence as the weapon was formed, raging with impotent frustration at the rank injustice of his situation.

Valjean had apparently seen this fury, writ large as it was across his face. Javert continued to glare, challenging, demanding something from the man.

The lines on Valjean’s face deepened. “You need not fear this,” he said, laying aside the makeshift spear and making a start on a second. “There are wolves and bears in these mountains and they would not halt an attack for us to reload our pistols.”

Javert narrowed his eyes. “You would give me a pistol?”

“Once we are on our way, a pistol and a spear.”

“I could, I _should,_ shoot you where you stand.”

“You may,” said Valjean, mildly. “But then who would carry your comrade?”

Javert held that dark, earnest gaze for as long as he felt able, but he was, in the end, compelled to look away.

The night was as strangely brief as the day that had preceded it. There had been no attack, but both he and Rivette had been woken by howling that had sounded very, very near.

Valjean had been stood in the entrance, lit by the glimmering remnants of the fire, loaded pistols in hand, spears propped up by his side. Javert, in that moment, was in no doubt the man would defend them to the death if need be. This certainty shocked and disturbed him and, although the howling stopped and did not reoccur, it was some time before Javert had been able to fall back to sleep.

Now dawn was breaking, its rays, like rose-coloured fingers, spread above the mountain range, bathing the word in unreal light.

Valjean unlocked the cuffs around Javert and Rivette’s wrists and retreated. Javert stood, stretching himself to his full height, all the time keeping his eyes on Valjean. Rivette, still groggy and in pain, sat on the dirt floor between them.

“The day is short,” said Valjean, “we should leave now.”

Javert nodded curtly and Valjean held out one of the pistols. He took it, the handle fitted smoothly into his palm. He hefted the weight of the ironwork and wood and such a comforting, reassuring, familiar feeling was to be welcomed. He pushed the barrel into his waistband.

“Will you help me with your colleague?”

“His name is Rivette,” Javert said.

Valjean nodded. “Will you help me with Rivette?”

Between the two of them, they stood Rivette up. He responded by groaning in pain and confusion. Due to his injured ankle, Javert took his weight whilst Valjean positioned himself. Then, with a bend of the knees, Valjean lifted Rivette onto his broad, muscular shoulders, so the man was held across them, like a sack of strange grain.

Holding Rivette steady, Valjean picked up his spear and left the sanctuary of their cave.

Javert collected his own spear and hurried to join him, having decided for the moment he would place his life in Valjean’s care.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Valjean looked in on them a little after seven pm. Rivette had not left his feverish Inspector’s bedside all the previous night, nor all today, save to relieve himself. As far as Valjean could see, he had also held Javert’s hand all that time.

Now, exhausted, Rivette had fallen asleep, his head resting on Javert’s chest, his arm protectively curled around his hip.

Valjean crept in and saw the two empty bowls. At least they had eaten the rabbit stew he had prepared, that was something.

The fire had died down a little. Valjean went quietly over, took the poker gently from its stand and gave the logs a stir. The embers flicked into flame almost immediately and he could feel the welcome heat begin to radiate into the room. He sat down next to the fire, watching the flames, thinking deeply.

It would be a long road back for Javert. He had a difficult path ahead in a strange new world where convicts could be good men and the law could be unjust. It would appear Javert already had a friend, but he would also need a guide.

So Valjean decided to wait with Rivette, to tend the fire through the night and pray. He had faith that the dawn would at least then bring some hope.


End file.
